Tag Archives: Art and architecture.

ON THE TRAIL AGAIN.

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Not all those who wander are lost. Bilbo Baggins.

Yes, you’ve guessed it, I’m on the Tolkien Trail, for the umpteenth time. I don’t think I progressed from reading The Hobbit to the Ring series, so I don’t understand all of the associations of Tolkien’s fantasy worlds and our Ribble Valley. JRR Tolkien indeed visited the area whilst his eldest son was studying at Stonyhurst College in the 1940s, and no doubt he explored a little, being an advocate of nature, but did he really lean upon the area for inspiration? It would be good to know if the green rolling Ribble Valley, which we so appreciate today, is in the background somewhere.

In these days of Instagram and social media, many places tied to a film, book or TV scene have become must-visit spots for that selfie.  The shopkeepers and pubs nearby will be rubbing their hands if their village or street is featured on TV week after week, but what of the local population who have to endure inconsiderate parking and intrusive behaviour? Try going to Haworth on a weekend. The same is happening to previously hidden beauty spots; the litter generated in some corners of the Lakeland is staggering. Internet searching even provides lists of ‘iconic’ locations.

So how does The Tolkien Trail fit into the scheme of things? Many of us have explored and enjoyed the area around Stonyhurst for decades without a thought of Tolkien or Middle-earth. Local enthusiasts and the tourist board seem to have hit upon the idea in the early 2000s, conveniently at the height of the Lord of the Rings film series’ popularity: literary connections were made and leaflets printed, and it has increased in popularity ever since. It has been included in several guidebooks, and YouTube videos are freely available. There are no standout Tolkien locations for the Instagram brigade, aside from perhaps Cromwell’s Bridge, to distract the walker. This trail is all about the natural scenery, which one hopes the visitors appreciate.

I arrive in Hurst Green at lunchtime, the streets are packed with cars, signs implore considerate parking, and there is a small car park at the village hall (voluntary contributions). I know I am adding to the problem. Why didn’t I catch the hourly bus from Longridge or come midweek?

I tend to walk the route widdershins, thus avoiding that long drag back up from the river to the village right at the end of the day. Most of the leaflets and guides go clockwise, and this is reflected in the steady stream of folk coming towards me all afternoon. Without exaggeration, at least a hundred; at one point, I wondered whether there was a sponsored walk underway. But the wide landscape easily swallows them, and as I said, there are no real honey spots. On reflection, I don’t recall seeing any litter.

A wedding reception is in full flow at the Shireburn Arms, a popular venue with stunning views over the Ribble Valley. Through their car park, a gate leads into a field that drops down to the River Ribble. 

Towards the bottom, it narrows alongside a steep gorge before crossing the stream.

Alongside the river, the pipeline carrying water to Blackburn is a graceful addition to the scenery. One is uniquely walking on Astroturf. A solution to prevent erosion on this popular stretch. Strips salvaged from an athletic track were laid down a decade ago and seem to be lasting well.

Pendle pops up on the horizon and is with us all day.

Yellow Loosestrife and Geraniums give some colour.

Approaching Jumbles…

…and Tracy’s seat. 

The giant hogweed we are warned against. Do not touch!   

Hacking Ferryman’s house, Kemple End in the background. 

17th-century Hacking Hall. 

Site of the Hacking Ferry, which operated until the 1950s, Tolkien’s era. The Calder is joining in. 

For more on the ancient ferry – https://bowlandclimber.com/2020/02/23/roads-to-nowhere-part-2-hacking-ferry/

All along this stretch,  chattering Sand Martins are swooping over the river. One is just as likely to see a Little Egret as a Heron these days.

 

The Hodder is joining from the left.

The ancient Winckley Oak.

 

I learned to drive one of these before I was a teenager. 

Stonyhurst College towers come into view. 

That iconic bus shelter with a handy seat…

… and a view of Pendle. 

C16th packhorse bridge. Cromwell’s army unlikely crossing. 

One is now following the Hodder, which is mostly hidden by the summer vegetation. There are some good little bays for paddling along this stretch.

And a lively weir further on.  

The trail climbs away from the river to Hodder Place, once a preparatory school for Stonyhurst College, but before that, a cotton mill owner’s property. Was there a mill on the Hodder below? I don’t think so, his must have been elsewhere..

I march through the grounds of Stonyhurst College before taking the footpath back to the village, arriving down Smithy Lane next to the photogenic Shireburn Almshouses.

Gothic Revival style St. Peter’s.

Almshouses.

I enjoyed my slow wander through our beautiful countryside and, like Bilbo Baggins, didn’t get lost once.

For a shorter version of this walk – https://bowlandclimber.com/2025/03/01/tolkien-in-the-mists-of-time/

***

A RIVER RIBBLE RAMBLE.

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Follow a river. 

Yes, I’m onto my next week of 52 Ways to Walk, all about walking by rivers. The book says “researchers found that a landscape that included running water had a restorative effect. Was it the sound of running water? The light reflecting from its surface? ….  The presence of water makes many of us feel calmer.” 

I have a favourite short walk along the banks of the River Ribble—time to revisit.

Looking back, I have completed several long-distance paths following rivers, so there must be something attractive about them. The Speyside Way, The Wyre Way, The Tees Way, The Severn Way, The Dearne Way, The Thames Way – the list could go on. And of course pertinent to today’s stroll, The Ribble Way.

Does one go upstream from the coast to the source? Or do you start high and follow the river down?  The choice is yours, but I tend to favour source-to-sea aesthetically.  Finding the source is not always easy, as there are often myriad streams up on the fells. It is rare to find the highest legitimate spring giving birth to a great river. I thought I found it on the Bollin Valley Way in the Macclesfield Forest. I might have been mistaken.

Getting back to today’s excursion by the Ribble, which is one of the great northern rivers, arising high in the Pennines and gathering waters on its way to its estuary out past Preston. The proposed ‘Way’ alongside it is flawed by a lack of access to its banks for over half its length. Landed gentry and fishing syndicates intervene. Successive governments have fallen short on this aspect of our freedom to enjoy the countryside. Between Preston and Ribchester is a prime example, from Red Scar to almost Ribchester, the long-distance route is nowhere near the river.

But my Ribble loop is legal and strangely not even used by the official Ribble Way. Here is a map of my extended loop walk. I find a place to park at the bottom of Alston Lane, and to make the route longer and more interesting, walk back partway up the lane, passing the University’s observatories and the gates to Alston Hall.

An almost hidden stile leads into a field. It’s signed for the Ribble Way, but there have been few through recently. Yes, that’s Pendle in the background.

Finding a way down to a hidden stile that collapses as I cross it. I spend time on the Lancashire County Council app photographing the evidence and posting a report. Do they have the time or money to deal with these problems?  The next stile is more substantial. There is even an old Ribble Way sign.

The grass in the field is long, and I almost step on a hare that bounds off. A large bird flies out of a tall tree – it must be a buzzard, but it just doesn’t seem right, an osprey??  They have been seen at Brockholes Nature Reserve just downriver from here. A flowering elderberry in the hedge row reminds me to make some cordial from the pink-flowered one in my garden.

Leaving The Ribble Way, a track takes me down to another hidden series of stiles in a wooden dell. One stile is easier to crawl beneath than to try to climb over. I seem to be having a problem with stiles today, old age?

Reaching the lane, I am only a few yards from where I parked. This has been a pleasant ramble in itself, but I haven’t reached the river yet. I turn left and soon enter a horse paddock. Fortunately, the residents are resting in the heat, so don’t bother me—a field of buttercups.

Soon, I am heading down to the river at last. I hear it before I see it. The Ribble speeds along over minor rapids before settling down to a lazy flow. What a contrast to wintery conditions, we hardly had any rain the last couple of weeks. I try to capture the atmosphere in a video.  

The path alongside the river has been strimmed, presumably for the fishermen who access this stretch, so I can walk effortlessly, whilst watching the flow of the water. I must admit it is calming.

There are places where one can access little stony beaches, and the water looks tempting on a hot sunny day. But the river is still cold, a young boy tragically died this week, a few miles upriver at Ribchester.

I’m almost at the bottom of the ‘loop’ and can look inland towards Longridge Fell. Continuing the circuit, there, on the opposite bank, is Balderstone Hall. The river becomes shallow here over rocky shelves, and this was the site of an ancient ford. I was tempted today.

Leaving the river, I pass the new build that was under construction last time I was here. It looks very severe, not at all in keeping with its surroundings.

Walking up the rural lane, I come across this tractor parked up. If I see a vintage tractor, I include a photo for certain readers – well, this one is brand new, straight out of the saleroom; if they have tractor salerooms.

Taking the bridleway towards Old Alston Hall.

I watch a couple of young girls putting their ponies through their paces. A pleasant chat with their father, but I’m not invited in for tea.

https://historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1072296?section=comments-and-photos

I walk past their large barn, and around the corner is my car parked in a shady spot.

A walk I’m happy to repeat at any time of the year, hidden rural Lancashire, and especially that invigorating river.

 

CLASSIC YORKSHIRE DALES.

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Conistone Dib and PIe.

The sound of Curlews calling and the Skylarks singing is still in my ears. I have just returned from a wonderful little walk over in Yorkshire. It was probably new to me; at least, I have no recollection of being there before. If I had to take a stranger on a Yorkshire Dales walk away from the crowds of Malham, Gordale or Burnsall, I would choose this one that I’m about to try and describe.

I’m not sure how it came into my radar, Conistone Dib rang a bell somewhere.

Parking in Conistone is discouraged, so I park by the bridge over the Wharfe. I’m here fairly early to secure a parking spot, as it’s half-term, and to get a head start before the heat of the day kicks in.  Pony trekkers are coming down the lane from the centre of the village.

The village is a mishmash of stone farms and cottages. I suspect many incomers have done up the properties, as elsewhere. There is a maypole in the central triangle; I’ve no idea whether it is used any more. I’m kicking myself for not visiting St Mary’s Church, built on the site of a medieval predecessor. Modern pews were incorporated in the 50’s, designed by Thompson of Kilburn, the church mouse man. He incorporated discrete mice into his works. Our family had a cheese board from him, a mouse was running up the handle. Now, where has that gone?

A gate leads into the limestone environment above the village. And all of a sudden, you are climbing a few rocky steps into a narrow gorge. There was once a watercourse that created this dramatic place. Its local name is Gurling Trough, reflecting the noise of water going down a drain. I’m already excited.

The walls of the gorge narrow as you thread through it. The path is rocky but not difficult.

At one point, I notice some discreetly placed bolts indicating a climbing route up the blank-looking rock.

White stonecrop plants grow in crevasses.

A lovely water-worn scoop gives a scramble out of the rocky ravine.

All of a sudden, you are in a grassy valley with scree slopes on either side. Ahead is a steep crag high up on the right. The back of my mind tells me I have climbed there years ago, but I have no recollection of having walked through that stunning gorge to get to it—time to check my diaries and climbing guides. Bull Scar.

I ponder this as I walk deeper into the valley. A lady dog walker appears from a gate. She lives in the village and is very proud of the area. So she should be. The way she came from is the easiest way up, but she tells me you can go straight up, which involves some rock climbing. Guess which way I go. T

There she goes down her valley.

My way narrows once more, and yes, there is some rock scrambling to gain the fell rim. A very satisfying end to the climb from the village.  The view back down is impressive.

I meet up with The Dales Way, a long-distance path from Ilkley to Windermere. I walked the route with The Pieman and The Eyeman back in 1981, but don’t remember being up here. I’m almost certain we just followed the Wharfe along the valley from Grassington to Kettlewell. Or is it my memory playing tricks again?

My planned route is to walk back along the Dales Way towards Grassington, but first, I make a short detour north to investigate Conistone Pie. Just off the main track is a ‘pie-shaped’  rocky pinnacle that is calling out to be climbed. I stand on the top, king of the castle, with excellent views up Wharfedale and across to Kilnsey Crag.

I find a sheltered spot below the rocks for an early lunch. A couple walking between Kettlewell and Grassington, come over to investigate and climb up – that’s them on the top.

They are from Sheffield, camping by the river in Kettlewell and enjoying this glorious spring weather. She has a lovely, drawn-out Yorkshire accent, reminiscent of Lucy Beaumont, the comedienne. I would think we chat for half an hour or so; nobody is in a rush up here on a perfect day. We stroll on together for a while, but I’m soon distracted by photographing the local flora.  They wander off towards Grassington.

The cowslips and orchids are past their best, but there are good displays of Bird’s Foot Trefoil, Tormentil, Buttercups, Daisies, Violas, Speedwells, and many more I don’t recognise. “Look how they shine for you”

The warm sunny day has all the skylarks in the area singing away up high, and there is a constant background calling of the curlews. They put a spring in your step as you march along this elevated limestone balcony.

Looking at the map, it is annotated everywhere in that antiquated print: Hut Circles, Cairns, Ancient Settlements, Field Enclosures.   Of course, none of these is easy to identify with an untrained eye. I try hard and perhaps discern some of the paths of some linear walls. A drone would be useful but totally intrusive.

Sheep are pretending to be stones.

But most impressive are the relatively modern stone walls criss-crossing the plateau—a symbol of the Dales.

Few trees survive up here. I like this one.

Dropping down towards Grassington, there is the site of a medieval village marked on the map, but I don’t go that far. Another time, it would be worth carrying on to explore and maybe have some refreshments in the village before returning through Grass Wood, renowned for its Bluebells in season.

I do a U-turn and head back along the escarpment, but lose my intended path and end up on a smaller trail through Bastow Wood. A blessing in disguise, as I enjoy the shade and the variety of broad-leaved trees and a different flora.

I emerge back onto the open limestone ground and pick up my intended track. This turns out to be a spectacular wander back down to Conistone. First, it winds down between blossoming hawthorns.

Then across the head of a deep dry valley, Dib Scar.

I’m rewarded with a bird ‘s-eye view of the crags down its southern bank. There must be climbing on those steep 25m walls. (The guidebook lists lots of  hard routes, some now bolted, but all too difficult for me, which is probably why the whole valley is new to me)

There’s a whole lifetime of climbing down there.

The path goes along the flank of the valley before breaking away through fields straight back into Conistone village. That’s Kilnsey Crag and Great Whernside in the distance.

The curlews are a constant companion, and I have the varied limestone flora at my feet all the way. I’ve just identified this plant, which has been abundant throughout the day. Crosswort.

Those six or seven miles have been a delight. I would recommend this walk to those of you who, misguidedly, read my posts for inspiration. I apologise for all those photos of rock faces. You know where I come from.

***

BANK HOLIDAY, BEER AND ICECREAM.

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Beautiful Bowland.

I always stop at the crest of the Roman Road, heading from Cow Ark to the Hodder Valley, for the view of the Bowland Fells, Ingleborough and Pen-Y-Ghent. My photos never seem to portray the scene.

I find the little car park on the edge of Newton-in-Bowland and remember to close my car doors this time. I always enjoy the riverside stretch between Newton and Slaidburn, and today I’m going to incorporate it into a short circular walk. I intend it to be short, as it is the hottest day of the year so far, breaking May records.

Newton is a pleasant hamlet of interesting stone properties, which I explored in 2020. 

I only have a brief wander today as I try to find the start of my footpath out of the northern side of the village. My phone mapping isn’t working, so I’m navigating off the OS paper map. There are no signs, and I seem to be walking up a private drive. I can’t see a way out to the right, but I spot a ladder stile to the left and climb into the field. This is not where I meant to go, but a faint path leads up the hill. Maybe I should have tried harder to find the path I intended.

Anyhow, I am on a public footpath which is rarely used by the look of it. Soon, I’m looking down at the roofs of Newton and across to Easington and Waddington Fells. The faint track continues up the hill,

The fields are full of buttercups, dandelions and daisies.

A farm up ahead is marked on the map as Crawshaw, and in a field adjacent, a basic little campsite. Two couples are sitting out in the sun, enjoying their getaway. This is the back of beyond – an idyllic spot.

Onwards through fields where I come across one of those Peak and Northern signs I so like, I didn’t expect to see one up here.

The next farm is hidden by a substantial shelter belt of trees. This is sheep country. The farmer and his dog are bringing in a ewe and her two lambs. We chat awhile, and he points out where the path goes. He doesn’t see many walkers up here.

Across the way is the bulk of Burn Fell, the site of an aircraft crash in 1945. I last explored up there seven years ago – It feels like yesterday. 

It’s all downhill from here, taking in the spring flora. Strangely, there is very little bird song; this should be lapwing and curlew country. 

I come out onto Woodhouse Lane, which I am familiar with, and stroll down into Slaidburn. The pub and the Youth Hostel have both closed, but the little cafe down by the river is doing a roaring trade. A popular stopping point for bikers and cyclists, and today for picnickers on the green. I can’t resist an ice cream cone.

The River Hodder is followed back to Newton, a track I know well.

The woods at Dunnow are alive with bird song; they look like a fantastic environment.

I try to ignore the pungent smell of wild garlic.

One emerges at the arched bridge over the Hodder.

The Parkers Arms has an open door, so I end up buying a pint of Bowland Bumble Bee, a tasty pale ale, enjoyed in their garden.

A satisfying round of this quiet corner of Bowland. Using the paper map makes you concentrate more on your envronment.

* 

 

 

NO SINGING TODAY.

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Singing and walking may become a theme this week.

We, the Rockman and I, were on our way back from visiting the Pieman in Yorkshire. He has had a rough time of late, slow recovery from a hip operation, only to be followed by a disastrous fall, which broke his other hip, ending in a prolonged hospitalisation. He is making some progress and was just about up to our company. We go back a long way, climbing and walking, and have shared many an epic. So there was a lot to chat about, and his wife is very patient. Not to over tire him, we leave early afternoon, and that is how we find ourselves parked up for a visit to the Singing, Ringing Tree.

The Singing Ringing Tree is one of a series of four 21st-century landmarks, or Panopticons (structures providing a comprehensive view), in East Lancashire. I have written about it before and have visited several times. The Rockman had expressed a desire to visit the site, and as it wasn’t that far off our planned journey, we made the effort to run the gauntlet of traffic through Colne and round Burnley on the M65. Climbing a thousand feet up minor roads onto the moors, we reach Crown Point with dramatic views over Burnley and the backside of Pendle. The little car park always looks a bit dodgy, made worse by litter and flytipping.

The result of all that climbing is that it is decidedly chilly up here, but the strong breeze bodes well for the singing. The Singing Ringing Tree has been constructed from open-ended metal pipes, which, in the right conditions, i.e. windy ones, produce an eerie whistling sound that I’ve experienced on more than one occasion. Think of blowing across the top of a milk bottle. It can be seen in the distance, tree-like, and it is only a ten-minute walk away.

The statue is quite dramatic on the edge of the moorland, looking down to the industrial Burnley conurbation as well as Pendle and Rossendale. The three peaks are visible on a good day. But never mind the views we had come to hear it singing, and today, for some reason, it wasn’t. Was the wind in the wrong direction?  I blew down a few tubes, but that didn’t impress my companion.

Defeated, we returned to the warmth of the car for our continuing ride home.

Thanks to the Rockman for driving me to see the Pieman, which was a worthwhile visit. I’m only sorry he wasn’t rewarded with a singing tree. So here, to appease him and you, is a YouTube video of the tree in a more melodious mood.

For those of you who haven’t read some of my historic trekking posts, here’s an explanation of the affectionate names I use for my four close friends of many decades. The Pieman – the caterer. The Rockman – the geologist. The Professor – the teacher. The Plastic Bag Man – the purveyor of all things in plastic bags, sadly no longer with us. Heaven forbid what they call me.

No singing today, but let’s see what the week brings.

KEEPING IT LOCAL.

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Longridge – some self-indulgence.

A chance conversation with my local taxi driver the other morning set me thinking.

He mentioned that his weekly fuel costs have increased by over £50 this month. We all know why. (Or perhaps you don’t, if reading this in future years. Trump and Netanyahu started an unnecessary Gulf War, which shows no signs of resolution)  I quipped that he may have to increase his prices. His reply – that is not easy when one competes with Uber’s supposedly lower prices. I was surprised by this. Why, in Longridge,  which has a local taxi office and an efficient service, would one use Uber?  OK, if you are on a late night out in Preston, Uber could be your quick choice, but here, surely, you should be supporting your local businesses.

That thought must have stuck in my mind all morning. On the way back, I alighted the bus at the top of the village to do some shopping in our independent businesses.

First stop was the little establishment, Rabia’s Kitchen.  Always a friendly welcome, and the best home-made curries in Longridge, as well as a variety of other tasty offerings. Way better than any national chain.

A few doors down, opposite our library, is a new venture in a converted chapel. The Next Chapter is a book shop. Years ago, we had a bookshop in Longridge that lasted a while. Nowadays, they are up against the likes of Amazon, a corporation I avoid. It is fatal to go into a bookshop to browse – yes, you guessed it, I came out with a gardening book for one of my grandsons. They have created a small, friendly bookshop in there and deserve to succeed. I buy a lot of second-hand books, but have resolved to order any new books from here. 

Thankfully, I didn’t need my dentist or optician today, both of which are still independently owned.

I realised I missed out our local cobbler and general fixer, so I went back up to take a picture. There are not many repairers around in today’s throwaway society.

On the downside, we have been without a bank for a decade or so, but another refurbishment is promising a Banking Hub. This should go down well with the over-60s. And when Russia crashes all our ATMs and card payments, we will still be able to fall back on honest cash. Thinking again, the whole system could go down, including bank hubs.

Across the way is our local post office, invaluable for that last-minute first-class stamp or sending a parcel. Again, they have so much competition from online parcel delivery firms.

Just around the corner is the little barbershop I have been going to for 50 years. Phil is a hive of local gossip, and we all come out looking the same. There must now be a half dozen ‘Turkish’ hairdressers in the village; the youngsters must struggle to give them all enough trade. And that’s just the gents, you ladies have an even wider choice. Nail bars and vape shops have a dubious reputation these days. 

I need some batteries for various devices, so I went into the electric shop for some personal attention. A pleasant chat ensues before I leave with my purchase. These are the people I go to when there is an electrical fault at home, or I need a new bulb.

Across the roundabout, which nobody seems to notice, driving too fast down the road. If this were France or Spain, we would have more than one pedestrian crossing along Berry Lane. C’est la vie.

And amongst the charity shops, all excellent and promoting recycling, there is the office of our local taxi service, which prompted this post in the first place. On the same block is the newly refurbished mobile phone shop. It moved to these premises when Subway pulled out. We still haven’t rid our high street of Dominos next door. I have bought all my mobile phones from these people over the years. They offer a fantastic service and a great help to people like me who are struggling to keep abreast of technology.

Opposite is the computer shop, which is invaluable for technical support. Buy from them and get lifetime service.

As a vegetarian, strictly a pescatarian, I don’t have much need of our local butchers. Still, they deserve a mention for the quality of their locally sourced produce compared to supermarkets.

On the corner is the takeaway I go to for fish and chips or Chinese food. Not very often nowadays, when I seem to eat less fat and quantity.

Have you noticed that nearly every shop front is dressed stone, as is much of old Longridge? The stone all came from local quarries.

Worth mentioning is our Thursday market, where you can buy locally produced fruit and vegetables without any plastic packaging. Their bedding plants are of a far superior quality to those of other purveyors. There is a fresh fish van, and Lancashire cheeses and local honey can be bought in the hall.

On the edge of town is Anji’s, which has been trading for decades. Selling just about everything. Since our hardware shop sadly burnt down a few years ago, they provide a fair substitute.

Almost home, and there is our local Sainsbury’s, my go-to supermarket for convenience and choice. But let’s not forget Booths, the Co-op and Aldi, spoilt for choice.

Oh, and by the way, I have a milkman delivering milk in reusable bottles to my doorstep. And what about the local car mechanic and builder?

There are lots of shops in Longridge that I have never set foot in. The aforementioned nail bars and hairdressers come to mind. And I have no desire to buy a handbag. I don’t tend to frequent the pubs or cafes in the village. Going back 50 years, I suspect every shop on the high street was family-run and relevant to the population’s needs.

This has been an enjoyable post to write. We all complain about the traffic and the new housing swamping us, but at the heart of the village, we are lucky to have a decent collection of local businesses.  I have diverged a few times into environmental matters. I don’t need to drive to any of these shops, which is invaluable at the moment, so this is a bonus for shopping locally. This message is not specific to Longridge. How much do you use your local and family businesses?  Support your local shops, save money, live better and help save the world!!

*

This little reminder to shop local has involved only a short walk of three-quarters of a mile, but has served the purpose of ticking off this week’s 52 Ways to Walk, Work as You Walk. which I was never going to do; my working days are long past. OK, there was a little work done uploading this post, but that’s more pleasure than toil.

A MEASURE OF CARE.

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I’m back at the Harris in Preston.

  A Measure of Care

“Artists Ruth Levene and Ian Nesbitt took a ledger written in the late 19th century out of The Harris archives and returned it to the place where it was written. The ledger was written by John Weld between 1880 and 1888, a Victorian landowner, antiquarian, naturalist, and amateur painter who lived at Leagram Hall near Chipping. The artists asked local farmers, birders, residents, ornithologists, conservationists, and historians to reflect on what they read, and their stories and observations form a new presentation in partnership with In Certain Places”

On my last visit, I wasn’t able to fully appreciate this audiovisual presentation of Bowland’s environment through modern eyes, reading the original writings of the C19th, John Weld. That time, there were too many people coming and going, and I was the only one sitting down trying to listen.

Today, by virtue of an early arrival in Preston, the room in the Harris is deserted.

I get myself comfortable on the settee and let the sounds of the countryside surround me. Here is a flavour of the presentation; the audio quality is not the best.

It begins by assessing John Weld’s book in relation to current bird species. I don’t know who the reader is.

 

The call of the Curlew is in the air.

And then two local ladies talk of the Curlew’s Bowland habitat.

 

We are given an explanation as to how modern farming methods have impacted the Curlew.

Even back in the late C19th, birds were under threat from shooting and agricultural practices.

Here is a mention of the Nightjar, a bird I’ve never seen or heard.

And of the corncrake, peewit. yellow hammer in separate videos.

Throughout the presentation, images of an imaginary future showing extinct birds being archived.  Probably unnecessary, but making a point.

The plight of the Hen Harrier is diplomatically dealt with.

I used to regularly see Hen Harriers in parts of Bowland, but they are much rarer now. A visit today from AB et famille brought back those halcyon days bouldering in Croasedale, 20 years ago, when we would nearly always see Hen Harriers along with Peregrines, Merlins, Stonechats, and Kestrels. I last climbed with AB at King’s Meaburn; he has moved to pastures new in the south of France.

There are touching comments from a local, which is a good place to finish. “I stopped shooting”

An enjoyable way to spend some time in the Harris whilst it is still being shown. I often wonder what happens to video presentations once their run is over.

And if you are interested in Hen Harriers and all things environmental, link into…                        https://www.henharrierday.uk/get-involved/skydancer-day/?utm_source=brevo&utm_campaign=Hen%20Harrier%20Action%20Late%20April%202026%20Newsletter&utm_medium=email

A SHORT CITY WALK.

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The city is Preston, and whilst visiting the hospital and the Harris, I’m taking the opportunity to ‘Take a City Smell Walk’, one of my 52 Ways to Walk. I’ve found it difficult to squeeze in a walk this last week.

We have an excellent bus service from my home town of Longridge to central Preston.  I don’t often visit Preston; it doesn’t have a lot to offer me, except for the newly refurbished Harris Museum and Art Gallery. But I do use this bus regularly on the way to the rail station, unfortunately, on the other side of the city. Preston bus station is widely known as an iconic brutalist building from the 60s.  But I’m getting ahead of myself. First, a bus to the hospital for my physio appointment, and then a bus to the centre. A large part of my life at the moment revolves around hospital appointments and bus journeys. The good news is that I can now largely dispose of the sling, but no driving for a few weeks.

I’m making use of my time in the city by revisiting the Harris to catch up on an exhibition I  only briefly touched on last time. And while I’m here, do a city smell walk, although a countryside smell walk would be preferable.

Let’s start the ‘smell’ walk at the hospital bus stop. Some beautiful cherry trees are blossoming nearby, and the soft scent hits me as I check the timetable. I walk the few yards to examine the flowers. Preston’s streets are well endowed with cherry trees, and they are a highlight of some districts at this time of year. What a shame they don’t last longer. We all use Cherry Blossom Shoe Polish.

A young girl is waiting at the stop, and I next pick up her perfume, Chanel, Lancome or Giorgio – I wouldn’t know, but a pleasant interlude.

The bus ride has an underlying sweaty smell, or worse, particularly as it fills to standing room only. Sweat from apocrine glands (in the armpits/groin) is odourless, but turns into pungent compounds when broken down by bacteria on your skin. Interestingly, thicker fluid is activated by stress and anxiety, leading to stronger odours.  I’m not sure where this post is going. I haven’t started walking yet.

I leave the pervading diesel smell of the busy bus station.

Its surroundings have a distinct sweet odour of cannabis. A lot of people are vaping outside, so perhaps I’m just picking up their herbal flavours. Apparently, it is the various fruit scents that appeal to teenagers; there are bright vape shops on every street.

As I walk into the centre, I find myself actively searching for new smells.

Close to one of the closed, derelict pubs in this part of the city, there is the lingering urine odour typical of a rundown dingy alleyway, best avoided even in daylight.

The leathery aroma as I pass a shoe shop with an outside display, you know the one with all left feet.

That homely smell of freshly baked bread outside a Greggs, do they spray it in the air to attract customers?

The bloody smell of fresh meat from a traditional butcher’s shop in the market. Here, too, are the earthy aromas from the vegetable stall next door.  I stop at the cheese shop to choose a well-matured goat’s cheese, sweaty socks come to mind, but it will be delicious later on some sourdough. And of course, the fishmonger’s display reminds one of visits to the seaside.

Leaving the market, I pass one of the street cafes which have become so popular in our towns and cities. The rich, roasted aromas of coffee draw one in; it’s coffee time anyhow.

My short city walk ends in the marketplace, where I head into the Harris. I suppose I cheated somewhat by traversing the market, which I knew would give me rich pickings. But concentrating on olfactory odours has been an interesting exercise, more so than some of the other 52 Ways to Walk.

Photographs are superfluous to an olfactory walk, but here are a few, self-explanatory.

My visit to the Harris was a great success, which I’ll write about later.

 

MASTERS OF WAR.

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I have too much time on my hands.

Time to listen to the news on TV. And the news is not good at the moment, despite the fragile ceasefire between the USA and Iran. Israel goes its own way, invading Lebanon, whilst under that smokescreen, at home, Israeli settlers are taking more and more Palestinian land. Didn’t the UK government recently acknowledge the State of Palestine alongside Israel?

Now the Pope has weighed in, criticising those pursuing war rather than diplomacy. It’s not often I agree with the Pope. I noted that he, somewhat provocatively, used the term ‘Masters of War’ which immediately took me back to 1963 when I bought an album by a young folk singer/songwriter, ‘The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan’. Of course, the album’s big hit was “Blowin’ in the Wind,” but amongst the tracks was “Masters of War.” A universal anti-war song written at the height of the Cold War and the escalation of the Vietnam War, and just as relevant today. I wonder if the Pope is a Dylan fan?

DEEPEST FULWOOD – BROTHERS IN ARMS.

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” We’re fools to make war on our brothers in arms”

  We find ourselves looking at two soldiers taking aim at each other across a road in a housing estate in deepest Fulwood. I hope we have not walked into some neighbourhood feud.

I had better explain how we come to be here; in fact, we are a little lost in the complexities of the estate’s convoluted roads. I have only just emerged from the hospital, having seen my shoulder surgeon for a follow-up. “It seems OK, I’ll see you again in six weeks” I forget to ask him several queries I have in mind.  Outside, the day is sunny and warm, and my chauffeur for the day, M, suggests a walk before we go for lunch. Rather than drive anywhere else, we leave the car where it is parked and set off rather aimlessly.

About three years ago, I had a few exploratory walks in the woodlands in this part of Fulwood. I remember being pleasantly surprised.  Housing estates have sprung up on land adjacent to Eastway, but parts of the original woodland have been set aside as green corridors. The numerous streams have, fortunately, formed small steep cloughs unsuitable for housing. The Woodland Trust, a worthwhile charity, has taken over their upkeep, safeguarding their future from any further development.

At the bottom of the hill, on Midgery Lane, we pick up the Guild Wheel, the walking cycle route around Preston, but soon take a path I vaguely remember into Midgery Woods. This goes alongside Savick Brook, which is not at its cleanest here in the semi-urban environment.

Savick Brook.

The young beech trees have those lovely bright green leaves of this time of year, and it’s good to see some quite old trees scattered in the woods.

 

We rise up towards the motorway, where the noise becomes very obtrusive despite a high fence. We are walking alongside townhouses visible through the trees. I hope they have triple glazing, but that won’t help when sat outside on a summer’s day.

Pleased to get away from the motorway’s edge, we follow an unknown path past a pond into the housing. And that is where we find ourselves in the middle of the gunfight.

Back in 1648, this area was known as Preston Moor, and on Augst 17th it was the site of the start of the Battle of Preston in the Second Civil War. Oliver Cromwell, with his Parliamentary army of Roundheads, had marched in from the east to confront King Charles’ supporters, the Royalist cavaliers under the Duke of Hamilton.  The Royalists were pushed back over the Ribble and routed in Walton-le-Dale. The survivors were pursued and finally defeated at the Battle of Winick two days later. A decidedly bloody era.  In the aftermath of the war, Charles I was beheaded on 30 January 1649, and an English republic was created on 19 May.

  The two soldiers we are looking at are “Brothers In Arms,” a sculpture by sculptor Thompson Dagnall, commissioned in 2005, presumably when the housing was completed. His work is quite distinctive, and many examples of his work can be found across Lancashire.  He has crafted from blocks of gritstone two soldiers pointing their guns at each other. One, a Royalist Cavalier and the other a Parliamentarian Roundhead.  The only difference is their metal hats. They are each holding a cannon pointing at each other. “The inevitable outcome of their cannons’ aims is a shared fate – the results of political and religious intolerance”   We never learn.

  The statues are to be found on Ladybank Avenue, at the junction with Williams Lane. Fulwood, PR2 9WB.

We find a path down the delightful Clough Copse, which brings us full circle back to Midgery Lane.

Only a mile or so, but a trip back through history. A piece of Preston’s history that should perhaps be better known.

     Of course, I can’t resist the opportunity to play… 

 

 

THE HARRIS IN PRESTON. 3. THE ART GALLERIES.

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  There is ‘art’ everywhere you look in the newly refurbished Harris, from historical paintings, selected items from their collections and temporary exhibitions. There are over 800 oil paintings and over 6,000 watercolours, drawings and prints at the Harris. 

  If, on entering the rotunda, you look up, you will see a full-length 20-meter textile sculpture crafted from rayon and paper. Hannah Robson’s ‘Transformation’ sought to explore the industrial history of the local Courtaulds factory through handweaving and rayon.

   There are lots of paintings of the good and possibly not-so-good people of Preston. I highlighted benefactor Harris and architect Hibbert in my last post.

  A sombre family portrait from the 17th century.

 

  Here are two Lord Mayors from the last century.  

  Paintings give us a glimpse into the past.

  Soon, industry dominated the town—a 20th-century painting by Charles Cundall.

 

  Two portraits are synonymous with the  Harris Gallery.

    Pauline in the Yellow Dress was painted in 1944 by her husband, H J Gunn.

    Dorette was painted in 1933 by G. L. Brockhurst.  

 

  Alongside is the bold contemporary A Portrait by Anthony Pilbro from 2000.

  In the same space as these portraits is a digital picture frame operated by a camera. You sit in front of it, compose the frame with you in it, choose a background and style, press the button and hey presto – your image is part of the Harris collection. I couldn’t resist a Napoleonic pose.  

  There are more paintings from the Harris Collection scattered about this floor. I like ‘Untitled and Adam and Eve‘ by Hugh Byars, 1991.

   And the 1942 ‘In for Repairs‘, an oil by Laura Knight, while she was an official war artist.

I am always pleased to come across a Stanley Spencer. Wisteria.

 *

A room is  given over to –

  Mr Williams researches old photographs of Preton and transforms them digitally with colour, producing some beautiful images.

   He has also taken the time to create short animated videos from some of the scenes. 

   *

All that art, and I have only just reached the top floor with the promise of more.

 

   As I mentioned, the Harris has a huge collection of paintings. Let’s hope the curators are able to rotate them into the galleries. The first room features paintings selected by different communities, including HMP.  ‘The peoples choise’.

  Blue Flamingo Cafe, a community dementia outreach organisation, chose ‘In the Beys Garden‘ painted by J F Lewis in 1865. He is described as an Orientalist painter but I think this painting has hints of the Pre-Raphaelite movement.

 

   Every gallery in Lancashire should have a Lowry. Appropriately for Preston – ‘Millworkers’.

    This ainting looked interesting.

  And for a touch of Edwardian prudery. 

   There have not been many statues on show, but up here, there is a delightful bronze, Pablo Picasso, Aged 7, by Anthony Padgett, who works in the city.

 *

  I’m attracted by the sound of birdsong to a separate area where a two-screen video is playing.  

   This turns out to be a fascinating look at the ecology of the Chipping area and the Bowland Fells.  

   Unfortunately, a rowdy group of school children arrived as I was preparing to watch and listen. I gave it up as a bad job and will return as soon as possible to absorb the experience and learn more about the Weld family from Leagram Hall, where I often walk.

*

  All that remains is to visit the galleries hosting The Harris Open, an annual event that highlights local artistic talent. Anyone living or studying in Preston is free to enter.

   Here is a selection of the entrants.

 

   Probably my favourite –

Out of the 400 entrants, I forgot to look who had won.

* 

Despite the length of this post, I have only sampled from the vast array on display. More visits are necessary. 

A WEEK TO REMEMBER.

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  My walking task this week – Walk to remember. I was excited, I would recall places, people and events on my daily walks around the village. Then I would return home and search for photos and diary entries to enhance the memories. But it was not to be. Walking to remember was based on flimsy research that suggested that after a short walk, one’s receptive memory is enhanced for a period. As I’m not studying for any exams or learning poetry, perhaps I should, I did not bother to test it out. 

  But I had a week to remember.

  Another birthday came along. My family turned up trumps and took me out, first for a walk and then for a lovely meal. My daily walks around Longridge, with my arm still in a sling, are, by necessity, becoming tedious—almost a repeat of lockdown. But friends have responded and driven me to ‘new’ venues for exercise and nature. More pub meals ensued. The weather has varied from pleasant springlike to wintry storms. I spent one of those wet days in the Preston Harris Museum and Art Gallery, which gave me something to post about. 

    What will next week bring? I’ll be walking with my ears, the 14th of 52 ways*. Have we really reached the 14 th week of the year already? At least the clocks change this weekend, which usually sees me setting off on some multi-day walk or pilgrimage. I’m already plotting for when I’m released.

  • 52 Ways to Walk. The Surprising Science of Walking for Wellness and Joy. Annabel Streets. Bloomsbury Publishing. 2022.

 

THE HARRIS IN PRESTON. 2, THE MUSEUM.

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  I’m still here, there is so much to see and take in at the recently refurbished Harris Museum, Library and Art Gallery. Time to look at the museum. Well, it is no longer a museum as you would imagine. Throughout the three floors, there are exhibits mostly focused on Preston’s rich history.  

  But first, there is information on the establishment of the Harris itself, most of which I detailed in my last post. Edmund Robert Harris not only founded the Harris Museum in 1877, but also the Harris Orphanage and the Harris Institute in Preston.

His architect for the museum was James Hibbert. He wanted visitors to be inspired by classical Greek and Roman scenes.

There are paintings by Edwin Beattie of the marketplace from that time.

  But let’s go back further in time to the end of the last ice age. In July 1970, the almost-complete skeleton of an elk was found during building work on a bungalow in the Fylde. The skeleton is around 13,500 years old and is particularly important, as barbs were found embedded in its bones – the earliest evidence of hunters this far north. It’s on display here.

  Moving forward to the Bronze Age. I often walk around the Bleasdale Hills north of Preston. I was there this week. In the fields below the fells is the Bleasdale Circle, dated to 1700BC. It consisted of an outer circle and an inner circle within a ditch lined with birch poles. The circles were marked by wooden stakes, the inner ones now replaced with concrete posts. The Harris tells the story of the circles, their discovery in 1899 and excavation, and the burial urns found within them. It is good to see the urns on display once more, along with some of the preserved birch poles from the ditch. 

  Somewhat later in history.  15 May 1840, workmen repairing the southern embankment of the River Ribble, near Cuerdale Hall, were surprised by the discovery of hidden treasure: a total of 1,000 oz (31 kg) of silver ingots and 7,000 Anglo-Saxon coins in a wooden and lead box. Thought to have been deposited 903–905 AD. At today’s value, £2.600.000. Why they were buried there is a mystery; read Joseph Kenyon’s account here. Most of this hoard, the largest ever Viking discovery, is in the British Museum, but the Harris has a small display of coins, some of the ingots haven’t been returned yet. Not to be missed.

   There is mention of the decisive 1648 Battle of Preston during the Second Civil War when Cromwell’s Parliamentarians defeated the Royalists.

  Other exhibits, scattered across the floors, focus on Preston’s social and industrial history.

   The historical importance of Preston’s trades has been celebrated every 20 years since 1542, with The Preston Guild. King Henry II awarded Preston its first royal charter in 1179, along with the right to have a Guild Merchant. The Guild was an organisation of traders, craftsmen and merchants entitled to trade in the town. Nowadays, schools, businesses, theatres, churches, community groups and more are incorporated into the celebrations. The next Guild is 2032; we have a phrase for rare events: “once in a Preston Guild”.

 

 

  The cotton industry was a driving force behind Preston’s growth. Originally a small market town, textiles were produced from the 13th century onward.  It was in Preston that Richard Arkwright and John Kay developed their highly important spinning frame.

  The progress of cotton spinning and weaving looms from a cottage industry to the large mills drove the population into the cities.   There were many mills in the town.  By 1850, there were 64 mills in town. Horrocks operated 10 mills by 1865, and many of the displays focus on their production.

  A dark episode of Preton’s history involving the Horrox family is the Lune Street massacre of 1842.

  In the foyer and stairwells, a video, a freeze, and a carpet installation by Khaled Hafez highlight Preston’s connection to the Egyptian cotton trade and uncover some of the darker sides of our colonial occupation in the early C20th. Art and history brought together.  

  The YouTube video is worth watching for background information.

    And then in 1939, along came Courtaulds, spinning Rayon fibre, mainly used in the tyre industry, but also viscose silk for textiles. As the cotton mills started to close, Courtaulds employed 2000 workers until 1980, when it closed. 

   I never knew Preston was famous for wired and gold threads or was at the forefront of teatotalism. 

 Preston Docks grew along with the town, opening in 1892 and providing deep anchorage for large vessels from the Ribble. It is now a marina.

  The “P.P.” on the city’s coat of arms officially stands for Princeps Pacis (Latin for “Prince of Peace”), referring to Christ, but is commonly interpreted locally as  “Proud Preston”. The emblem features the lamb of St. Wilfrid, the city’s patron saint. The coat of arms is proudly worn on Preston North End football shirts. The team was a founding member of the football league in 1888.

   Tom Finney, one of PNE’s famous footballers, is one of the photos featuring well-known personalities. Do you recognise the others?

    One is the early feminist and suffragette, Edith Rigby.

  There is so much more to explore, but it’s time for another visit to the cafe before exploring the art galleries. 

 

THE HARRIS IN PRESTON. 1. THE LIBRARY.

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‘The mental riches you may here acquire abide with you always’                 

A suitable Victorian inscription from the building.

 

  In 1877, wealthy local lawyer Edmund Robert Harris left £300,000 to Preston Corporation to fund a library, museum, and art gallery. To start with, the library and collections of the Literary and Philosophical Institution (established in 1810 in the town) were purchased and displayed in the basement of the town hall. Land was obtained on the Market Square, and local architect James Hibbert was contracted to carry out the work; the building opened in 1893.

  Hibbert chose a neoclassical design. The Victorians believed that classical art and architecture had an uplifting effect on the public. This resulted in the imposing building we see today with its stately columns and classical sculptured pediment depicting famous Greek figures.

  The Harris has been closed since 2021 for a major £19 million restoration project known as “Harris – Your Place“. The Grade I-listed building has had repairs, including asbestos removal, structural improvements, and upgrades to heating and accessibility, reopening in September last year. The reopening was fanfared with the Wallace and Gromit exhibition, which I visited after Christmas, vowing to return to see where all those millions have been spent.

  I’m back today. The bus from Longridge lands me at the brutalistic bus station, from where a short walk takes me to the Harris. I hope I can manage my phone camera with my one good hand. After passing through the dated shopping arcade, I can walk past the new cinema complex next to the underused open market; somewhere around here is the much-photographed Wallace and Gromit seat.

  Narrow alleyways once surrounded the market square, but over the years, development has cleared them away, including Sir Gilbert Scott’s 1867 ‘gothic’ town hall, built from Longridge stone. It burnt down in 1947 and was demolished in the 60s to make way for modern developments that now look rather shabby. A small 16th-century shop is the only remnant of those early days.

    I’ve mentioned the site of the old bull ring before, found in a corner of the flag market.

    The Harris dominates the east side of the square. 

  Despite that formidable collonaded facade,  the entrance is achieved up some hidden side steps. The front elevated steps are reserved for more formal gatherings.

  There are automated doors into the foyer, with its stairs on either side, leading to the roll of honour of Prestonians killed in the First World War.

  The central circular atrium is the hub of the building, with three stories leading to side galleries and an upper Egyptian gallery (only open to guided tours), all lit by the tower and the glass dome 120 feet above. The neo-classical theme continues throughout the interior. The centrepiece here is the famous Foucault pendulum, the longest in the UK, hanging the full height of the atrium. As the pendulum swings in a fixed plane, the Earth rotates beneath it, causing the pendulum’s path to appear to rotate over time. The earth moves for me.  

   Previously known as the Museum, Library and Art Gallery, the refurbished Harris aims to act as a Community, Cultural and Learning hub for the city and its surroundings. It succeeds on all three levels, so much so that in this post today, I am basically concentrating on the library side of things. There is so much to see, one visit is not enough. 

   Forget about the hushed, somewhat dingy library I used regularly when I first moved to Preston in the 70s; all is now open, bright, and friendly. The lending library is still operational on the ground floor, although I imagine it is far less used than it was of old. I’m heartened that people want to read a physical book, of course, all for free. Do you still get fined for overdue books? 

   It’s good to see young children being encouraged to start exploring books.

  Right next to the lending library, through the small shop, is the cafe, a busy spot with good coffee and cakes, which I can vouch for. Even here, there are several informal displays of the museum’s collections, mainly ceramics. I am heartened to see a bookcase full of the entire OS 1:50,000 map series, plus many of the recreational 1:25,000 sheets—what more does one need – coffee and maps.

 

 

    Coffee break over, I explore the library further on the first floor and find a room set aside with computers that is very busy, all surrounded by soothing artworks. 

    The reference part of the library is full of books and magazines just waiting to be browsed. There is an extensive selection of local interest editions. One could spend a happy day here.   

  Another space has rarer books in locked cabinets – for serious research. Other rooms are for quiet study. 

 

    That’s all for the library, but as you have noticed throughout, other exhibits are intermingled. I will post further on the Museum and the Art Gallery exhibits. 

 

 

VIRTUAL WALKING.

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  At present, my walks are short and restricted to the village from my house; nothing wrong with that, but certainly not worth writing about. A fellow blogger was recently on a car journey when friends suggested and listened to songs with the theme ‘walking’. This is a good opportunity to expand on her choices and delve into musical walking themes. Virtual Walking.

  The rain keeps falling, so you, fellow walker, may be as housebound as I am. There are hours of music out there to listen to; some of the below may be new to you, and they may be worth an ear.

  First, let’s look at the obvious popular music choices. There are plenty of them – we are always either walking away from or towards love. This is not a top ten; there are eleven, but a selection of those I would consider the more polished tunes from my memory, click to get your feet walking.

  Going back to 50s Rhythm and Blues, early Rock and Roll, Fats Domino sets the scene with  I’m Walkin’

  Probably most people’s choice must be The Proclaimers, a long-distance marching song if ever there was one.    I’m Gonna Be 500 Miles.

  From the sixties, we have Nancy Sinatra’s catchy pop tune. These Boots are Made for Walking.

  Going back to 1957, Patsy Cline sang in her country style  Walkin’ After Midnight.

  And coming from country music in the same era, 1956, plodding along is Johnny Cash’s enduring hit I Walk The Line.

  Dionne Warwick’s version of Burt Bacharach’s tearjerker came out in 1965. Walk On By.

  More up-to-date, 1991, is Marc Cohn’s Walking in Memphis.

  Modern blues singers from around the world treat us to the classic Son House Walking Blues.

  An upbeat tune I’ve often walked along to, Katrina and the Waves. Walking on Sunshine.

  For variety, what about some Rap from Run DMC and Aerosmith?  Walk This Way.

  And finally take a stroll with a twist along to Lou Reed’s  Walk on the Wild Side.

***

  Moving onto Jazz recordings, steady, rhythmic grooves and strong walking basslines are everywhere. I have hundreds of CDs to choose from.

  Back in 1939, Fats Waller sang Hand Me Down My Walking Cane

  The jazz 4/4 walking beat is particularly the hallmark of bassist Paul Chambers, who was an integral member of many of the best hard bop combos throughout the 50s and 60s. Take a brisk walk with him in 1957 on Confessin

  Bassist Percy Heath keeps the beat on Miles Davis’s 1954 Walkin’

  Charles Mingus’ bass lines are famous, as in his 1955  Work Song

  McCoy Tyner with bassist Jooni Booth, live in Montreux, 1957. Walk Spirit. Talk Spirit.

  Bassist Leroy Vinegar struts his walking bass on the 1958  Walk on.

  Straying into the magical world of Thelonious Monk, we have John Ore marching along on bass in the 1962  Monk’s Dream

 

***

 

  In classical music, heavyweights derive inspiration and depict rural scenes – Beethoven’s Pastoral, Mendelssohn’s Fingal’s Cave, Debussy’s Suite Bergamasque, and Chopin’s Raindrop, without directly referencing walking as such. We are all waiting for Spring. in Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.

 

  The internet is awash with classic compositions to listen to in the background, through your headphones, whilst out walking. I’ve never understood walking around with headphones whilst out engaging with nature. But I’m old-fashioned.

  For some stepping out music to listen to at home, what better than Grieg’s instantly recognisable  In the Hall of the Mountain King from Peer Gynt Suite.

  This is often confused with Paul Ducas’s The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, highlighted in Walt Disney’s 1949 animation Fantasia.

  Searching for classical music with walking in the title doesn’t bring up much. But what I find is new to me, Seven Days Walking, by the pianist Ludovico Einaudi. His ambitious plan was to release seven albums in seven months in 2019, inspired by the same walk he repeated in the Alps. Each selection of pieces portrays a different aspect of his wintery wander. Randomly, I have chosen Ascent on Day 1. For relaxing in this rainy weather, one can listen to the full six hours on YouTube.

   Sorry for all the annoying YouTube ads.

  You will be tired out with all this virtual walking.

  I would be interested in your own choices, particularly in Classical Music, where I ran out of steam.

 

 

UNDER THE HOWGILLS.

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More of the Lune. 

  November 1981. Day four of our Dales Way walk. We had started in Ilkley as a threesome, but by the time we arrived, via a long day to Grassington, into Kettlewell, we were down to two. An excessive night at the George in Hubberholme, when we couldn’t find the tent, didn’t slow us up. I can’t recall where we camped in Dent. The next afternoon, we diverted into Sedbergh for beer and chips before joining the Lune. I remember well our camp later that day in the meadows just before the Crook of Lune Bridge.  Our sleeping bags weren’t up to the freezing temperatures we experienced that night.

We made it to Windermere. But I don’t remember walking under the Lowgill Viaduct. I’m back here today for a walk down the Lune and beyond.

*

    The journey up the motorway goes well, I am trying to make the most of a rare good January day. The Howgills look even more attractive than usual in the low sunshine as I swish down the road past the ‘Black Horse’ towards Sedbergh. But today I take the lane signed Waterside and Firbank up the Lune Valley. I stop to take photos of the Waterside viaduct, which carried the Ingleton Branch railway line.

I eventually park under the Lowgill Viaduct, which carried the same line. onwards to Tebay, where it merged with what is now the Main West Coast Line.

The Ingleton to Tebay line, the Ingleton Branch, was built in the early 1860s by the North Western Railway as a link for them to Scotland. This never worked, and it remained a quiet branch line linking towns and villages in the Lune Valley.   It finally closed in 1964, but its structures and trackbed are still very visible in the valley today.

I’m inspired by the eleven-arched viaduct above me. What a climbing wall could be established on one of those stone arches.

  I walk down the lane, past the attractive Pool House, to the Crook of Lune Bridge. Not be confused with the Crook of Lune bridge painted by Turner further down the river at Caton. The one I cross today is a narrow, arched C16th stone bridge. Oh, and by the way, this Lowgill shouldn’t be confused with the one at the base of the Tatham Fells.

From the bridge, I look upstream towards the shapely Howgills, and downstream with Firbank Fell in the background, I will be up the latter on my return leg. It’s a day of views despite not really climbing anything higher than 1000ft.

That’s a slow start, but I’m soon in the fields bordering the River Lune, where we camped all those years ago. How come I don’t remember the viaduct?

The Dales Way is a popular route, and the path is clear, though rougher than I expected. This may be due to erosion from flooding; there is a section where the narrow trod has been bolstered with wooden boarding.

I’m walking into the low sun, so some of my photos are looking back. In places, the river rushes along, but in others it seems to be at a standstill, which I notice has a very calming effect upon me. One can imagine sitting here quietly for hours.

I arrive at Hole House with its joining arch, which I’ve been through not that long ago. *

Time for the obligatory snowdrop and catkin photos.

Leaving the Dales Way, the river is crossed via a wooden footbridge and begin a steep 700ft climb up the otherside.

Stopping for breath at the abandoned rail track of the Ingleton Branch. I wonder whether one could follow it back to Lowgill. Wouldn’t it make a wonderful cycleway from Sedbergh?

My next rest stop is at Goodies Farmhouse, where I reach the road. The views back to the Howgills are becoming more impressive as height is gained.

There is more height to be climbed along the semi-enclosed bridleway, then onto open moorland.

At last, the top road is reached, and the stile is used as my picnic bench.

Just along the road in the wrong direction is Fox’s Pulpit and a small graveyard. I visited here a couple of years ago. *  Then the Howgills were in cloud, but today are spread out in full Cinemascope.

The lane leads to my highest point of the day, a mere 304m, a smidgem under 1000ft, but exhilarating in the windless blue sky. I walk on, soaking up the views. The M6 motorway and the main railway line can be seen sneaking through the gap to Tebay.

The Lakeland hills are over there somewhere beyond the Tebay Borrowdale. Kidsty Pike is always the prominent one in the East.

 

 

A slanty sign shows the way down the fields. Some awkward stiles to be surmounted. After crossing this one, I slide off the boards into the stream, fortunately staying upright.

The path eventually drops steeply down towards Lowgill, offering a bird’s-eye view of the valley.

I finish on the road alongside those eleven arches.

A grand five mikes.

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  Several drone videos of the viaduct are available online.

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  I noticed a small turreted church by the roadside as I drove in this morning. I have time to stop and look around on the way home. St John the Evangelist’s Church, Firbank, built in 1842.

It looks as though a spring visit is called for…

 

 

A NOSEY AROUND THE VILLAGE.

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Is it a village or a town I wonder?

Longridge was once a village centred on stone quarries and cotton mills. But that was long ago, there has been steady development in the last 50 years, until it is now a dormitory town of Preston.

The population in 2000 was about 7,000; it is now estimated at 12,000. So I think it is, in fact, a town even though the established locals still refer to it as a village. Make of that what you wish; it is irrelevant to today’s walk.

Delving into my 52 Ways to Walk book for this week, I have the snazzy title Breathe as you walk. That sounds fairly obvious. But no, there is more to it than that – let’s focus on Nitric Oxide, NO. (not be confused with nitrogen dioxide, NO2, a brown gas and major air pollutant or Nitrous Oxide, N2O, which is laughing gas) When I studied Biology in the sixties, Nitric oxide was established as highly reactive, having a lifetime of a few seconds, and I don’t recall any properties that applied to the human body. But we are in a different century, and it has assumed some importance to our physiology.

Nitric oxide is a vasodilator discovered in our bodies a mere 30 years ago. One source is from the nasal membranes, so nasal breathing delivers it directly to our lungs, helping to improve oxygen uptake. I have double-checked some of the science, and there is relevant and reliable clinical research. Interestingly, if you hum at the same time, more nitric oxide is produced.

Nasal breathing is already known to filter out more airborne pathogens than mouth breathing, and it also slows breathing, having a relaxing effect well known to Yoga followers.

Hence, on my walk today, I will try to breathe through my nose as much as possible. I realise that most of the time, when exercising, I predominantly breathe through my mouth. A gentle walk around the village/town is chosen. On the flat, slow nasal breathing is easy once you concentrate. Going uphill, breathing in through my nose but breathing out through my mouth works best. I don’t notice any extra energy on this limited walk. Of note, I am much more aware of the traffic fumes when breathing through the nose. Urban walking is probably not the healthiest option when it comes to pollution. On the contrary, at other times the scents of the countryside will be more acute with nasal breathing.

On the whole, during my walk, I find that trying to concentrate on the nasal breathing interrupts my enjoyment of the surroundings and my train of thought. More practice is needed.

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I follow one of my usual circuits. Out past the cricket pitch, up Mile Lane (which is only half a mile), and down the path onto the top park. Here I divert to have a look at the little Miyawaki tree plantation. Most are just sticks at this time of year, but I notice yew trees and gorse in amongst them.

Down Higher Road, I pass the terraced row of stone cottages, said to be the first erected by a mutual building society.

At the top of the main street is a little fast-food outlet advertising burgers and wraps, not the sort of place I would normally use. But through the grapevine, I learned they prepare a daily curry, cooked on site in small batches from natural ingredients. I have started to pop in when passing to see what’s on offer in the curry department. Everything I have tried so far has been authentic and delicious. I go in today and come away with a portion of black bean dhal and some vegetable pakoras. Rabias Kitchen  – my little piece of India in Longridge. As one has to say  –  other outlets are available. In fact, Longridge is saturated with takeaways. 

I cut back through our recreational park with its children’s playgrounds, skate park, and now the brand-new Pump Track. I stand and stare at some of the youngsters pumping their way around the circuit. It looks like great fun. Let’s try to give our children something to prise them off their screens and possibly keep them away from more antisocial behaviour. Our community is not immune to vandalism and drug problems.

As an example of antisocial behaviour – I cpme across flytipping by the roadside next to a new estate.

This is followed by a thorough soaking from a motorist driving over the speed limit through a large puddle. Nose breathing took a dive as I swore at his rapid passing.

I don’t expect to venture far this next couple of weeks, what with the weather and appointments. Local walks will have to do. 

 

 

 

A NEW YEAR. IN BOWLAND MEADOW.

19 Replies

 

  My walking year wasn’t meant to start like this.

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  I had a busy and costly day yesterday. 

  A dental appointment in the morning – check-up and a difficult molar filling that keeps dropping out and will need some major drilling in the near future. 

  Physiotherapy appointment at lunch time to assess some abdominal muscular problems, which have completely stopped me from venturing out in 2026 so far. Suspect nerve impingement in my thoracic region. Hopefully not a kidney stone, as my GP’s appointment is in two weeks.  

  Afternoon – ultrasound scan of my shoulder, which has suffered from the bar stool episode last year. The charming radiologist tells me I have a complete tear of the supraspinatus. No quick fix there.

  ‘That was the day that was‘, which left me £500 less in my bank account.  Having said that, I don’t begrudge a penny of it if it gets me back on the road. (OK, I know I’m lucky to be able to afford it where others may not.)

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  Today, my muscle spasms are less, thanks to the physiotherapist’s strong-arm massage on my back yesterday—time to stop the painkillers. I have watched the blue skies on several days this year and been unable to get outside and enjoy them. By lunchtime, the day is set fair, and I decide to go for my first walk of 2026. My choice of route is modest and local. It has only now struck me that the name of the estate I walk around is Bowland Meadows – serendipity.

  I would have been happier in the Bowland Fells, but needs must, and at least the meadows have been granted a local name, although Bowland View would have been more appropriate. The meadows are no more, yet more countryside has been sacrificed for our mad rush to build more houses at whatever cost to nature. Barratt Homes,  as the developers, fall back on giving the streets ‘nature-related’ names, as you will see in my photos. Is this to dupe the house purchasers into thinking they are moving to a rural life? What was wrong with Factory Row, Mill Street and Gas Alley?  As our natural fauna and flora are being destroyed, the popularity for naming streets after birds, animals, trees and flowers has increased exponentially. There is some perverse psychology at play.  Similar to the global companies offering to plant a tree for every pound spent on destroying the planet. It just doesn’t work. 

  Having said all that, my stroll around Bowland Meadows reveals diverse, pleasant housing, open green spaces, play areas, and a connection to the surrounding countryside, for now at least. And of course, those Bowland Fells will dominate forever. 

  Let us hope they appreciate the view and the ‘rural life’ they have signed up for.

  Let’s also hope for some snowdrops, primroses, and bluebells to brighten their Spring. 

A GRAND DAY OUT.

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The Harris Museum, Preston.

  I’ve just spent the last couple of hours re-watching Nick Park’s early Wallace and Gromit films on iPlayer.  (A Grand Day Out, 1989; The Wrong Trousers, 1993; A Close Shave, 1995; A Matter of Loaf and Death, 2008).  I felt I had to after visiting the  Wallace and Gromit: A Case at the Museum exhibition in the newly opened Harris Library, Museum and Gallery in Preston earlier in the day. These four short films were produced at Aardman Studios in Bristol, and originally shown on BBC TV. My memory of them is somewhat vague, but I find them much more enjoyable than his full-length feature films: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, 2005 and  Vengeance Most Fowl. 2024. That possibly says more about my attention span rather than the films’ qualities. I now think that if  I had refreshed my memory of the films before visiting the exhibition, I would have derived more from it. 

  For anyone wanting to see the Wallace and Gromit exhibition in Preston, it closes on January 4th.

  When I first moved to Preston in the early 1970s, I was a regular visitor to the Harris Library for books. I remember glancing at the museum exhibits and art gallery. One or two objects stayed in my mind from that time: The Lady In the Yellow Dress, the central pendulum, an ancient Elk’s skeleton and pottery remains from Bleasdale Circle. The years go by, and I haven’t visited since I moved to Longridge. The Museum and library closed in 2021 for a major multimillion-pound redevelopment. It reopened to much acclaim at the end of September 2025, with the Wallace and Gromit exhibition a major attraction. I still hadn’t visited, but today my grandson and his partner, both recent art students, came up from Manchester to see the present exhibition before it closes, and I was gladly dragged along.

  We emerge from the brutalistic bus station and make our way through the ageing shopping arcade to emerge alongside the Victorian buildings at the heart of the city. The covered market, the council offices, the old law courts, and the delightful arcade which deposits us into the Flag Market. The old post office, on the far side, was destined to become a hotel, but work has apparently stalled. The Harris, which we have come to visit, dominates the square.  Opened in 1893, the Grade I listed building is owned and managed by Preston City Council. Its origins are from a bequest from Edmund Harris, a wealthy Preston lawyer, in 1877, in that grand age of Victorian educational enlightenment. The building was designed in a Neo-Classical style by local architect James Hibbert.  “To Literature Arts and Sciences” is enblazoned across the portico.

  As an aside, I recently wrote about a bull-baiting ring at Worston and, on further reading, came across an often-overlooked bull ring on the Flag Market in Preston. Bull baiting was banned in 1726. Time to find it. Yes, and there, hiding just behind the falafel stall, in the SW corner, is evidence of it.

  Into the Harris we go – it is free to visit. “The Harris is here to serve as a cultural hub, bringing together communities and promoting creativity and learning”  I realise immediately how vast the interior is. A central rotunda with rooms disappearing on all sides and on four floors. A Foucault Pendulum, displaying the Earth’s rotation, hangs 35m, the longest in the UK. 

  We did a whirlwind tour of the library areas and some of the upper galleries before joining the queue for the Wallace and Gromit display. The queue lasted an hour before we were let into the exhibition. A good chance to chat to the friendly people of Preston. Behind us was a gent wearing a TVR-emblazoned hat.  TVR sports cars were manufactured in Blackpool and once achieved cult status before being bought out by foreign investors. One of my friends still drives one, and the man in the queue once had three in various states of repair. The family in front had an excited young fan of the W and G films, and somehow the conversation turned to visiting Sri Lanka and its tea plantations. I now realise we were passing a display on the history and importance of tea, on the upper gallery. The view down from here was acrophobic.

  At last, we were in…

… which meant nothing to me until rewatching the early films.

  The genius creator behind Wallace and Gromit was Nick Park, a Preston lad born in 1958. He had a keen interest in drawing cartoons from a young age, encouraged by his father. Some of his early attempts are on display.

  His college graduation project, A Grand Day Out, was brought to fruition with the help of Aardman Studios. It was six years in the making. He has worked with them ever since, on far more projects than W and G. 

  The secret behind his Wallace and Gromit stop-motion animations is his use of plasticine for his models. This blends in with the characters, giving them a somewhat homely northern character. His choice of Pater Sallis for Wallace’s voice-over was a master stroke, even if the accent is more white rose than red. A fire at Aardman Studios in 2005 destroyed many original models, but enough survived and are on display here today.

  The exhibition highlights the level of detail that Park put into creating his characters, with many of his original sketches on display.  

  The detail was further carried through to his sets, several of the originals being displayed. If you are a fan, you will recognise them.

  Using the plasticine, Park created a range of expressions for Wallace’s vocabulary. These he preserved and used as and when on his character.

  Throughout the exhibition were models used in the original films, a fascinating collection.

  I can’t convey the amount of material and information in this exhibition. What a shame it’s coming to an end this week. 

  Throughout the display were videos from some of Nick Park’s films, which were much appreciated by all ages.

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  I will be back soon to immerse myself in the libraries and galleries.  Here is a taster, the enigmatic ‘Pauline in the Yellow Dress’.

SIMPLY BLEASDALE.

4 Replies

 

  A winter afternoon, and I’m surrounded by familiar fells, Parlick, Faisnape, Hazelhurst and Beacon, far away from the pre-Christmas hustle and bustle. It’s been a while since I was out and about, but one has to take the opportunities of fair weather as they come along at this time of year. A cooler east wind is creeping in, so hopefully that persistent wet weather is behind us for some time. 

    St. Eadmer’s, where I park, sits in this beautiful setting on the Bleasdale Estate. It is the only church in the UK to be dedicated to St Eadmer, an Anglo-Saxon Benedictine monk and scholar. I have written about the church and Bleasdale many times, so let’s just get on with the walk, a circuit on good tracks.

  I wonder if people turned up at Bleasdale Circle for the winter solstice a couple of days ago. It’s rather a bleak spot now that its trees have toppled. 

  Throughout the short afternoon, the fell tops are constantly changing as clouds come and go. The sun makes a weak appearance at times, adding interest. 

  There are several variations to my Bleasdale walks; today, I choose widdershins on a short circuit for no obvious reason. I contemplate the lonely lives of upland farmers as I pass by their isolated properties. I meet one other person, a lady recently retired from Sussex with her two dogs, and now lucky enough to live in Bleasdale. 

  On the return loop, I once more peer at that packhorse bridge over the infant Brock, near Brooks. It is on private property. I’ve read that it was on the original track from Bleadale House and Reformatory School to St. Eadmers. I cross what is obviously a more modern bridge, but then the curiosity gets the better of me, and I enter the woods to backtrack above the river and look down on the older crossing. One day…

  Again, on a whim, I investigate a footpath I have never used before. Leaving the estate road, it cuts across rough fields to Admarsh Barn and the church where I am parked. 

St. Eadmer’s.

The track into the estate.

SIMPLY  A swollen beck.

Lonely Holme House Farm.

Looking up to Fiensdale Head.

Fairsnape and Parlick.

Beacon Fell

Old packhorse bridge.

From above.

Adnarsh Barn.

  While looking online for the origins of Admarsh, I came across an interesting article on Bleasdale that I hadn’t previously seen.  https://e-voice.org.uk/longridge/longridge-history-society/bleasdale/   Well worth a read if you know the area.

  Time to get back to the shops.

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